Changing the Game
by MoarCowbell
Summary: It was then, as her partner leaned back in his chair with one hand clicking absent-mindedly on his pen , and with such a look of bemusement on his face that Scully came to the conclusion that it was entirely possible he didn't realise he had said it.


**A/N: Here we go, branching into the X Files fandom, so forgive me if it's just a little bit better than rubbish. This all came about as a direct result of my sister, who mentioned a Supernatural episode to me to watch which in turn made me want to watch Bad Blood which in turn roused the monster deep within my chest that is the obsession with X Files, which then needed an outlet of creativity, and seeing as David Duchovny isn't around for me to unleash some _other_ pent up frustration, this is what you've got. **

**Let me know what you think, would you?**

**Changing The Game**

The first time it happened it didn't even register in her brain.

Like someone who has heard the same few words every day for years, her filter slipped it through unnoticed.

And before she had time to process it the response had passed out of her mouth and into the familiar yet carefully measured space that was their relationship, knocking it off it's previous path and charting a new course; one which at the same time as feeling comfortable and at ease with the journey, she was unsure as to just where it would take them or what ill winds they might encounter along the way.

In the first moment of consideration it appeared to be nothing more than an innocent and unremarkable statement one would say to one's mother, or a small dog one had become rather attached to. Perhaps even a very large dog.

But once she got past the face of it, and started contemplating the reason behind it Scully had to wonder just what had prompted Mulder to say it in the first place. While the feeling behind the words came as no surprise whatsoever; she knew he cared for her just as much and to the same degree that she did for him, the verbalisation of such emotions was usually reserved for moments of immense relief at their mutual survival, or when Mulder had been watching repeats of Judy Garland movies and ingested too much sea-water.

The moment itself in which the significantly unremarkable words were uttered was one which presented itself nearly every day at their small basement office- Mulder was hunched over his desk attempting to finish a large pile of overdue paperwork and Scully was preparing to leave, having already finished her noticeably smaller pile and reorganised the filing cabinets.

Twice.

There was nothing unusal about the day; no brushes with surely painful and horrendous death (in fact no brushes with death of _any_ sort at all), no moments of deep intense connection over the coffee machine (Mulder thoughtfully informed her she had lettuce in her teeth), and the only possibly romantic movies he had been watching were bound to focus on the more physical side of things.

She had readied her things to go, put on her suit jacket and deposited her completed reports on Mulder's desk. He had barely mumbled her his thanks, sparing her only the briefest of glances as his pen continued to have harsh and frantic words with the paper.

She bid him farewell and gathered her briefcase, coat, two folders of case notes, a half eaten bagel and a recipe for Spinach and Feta Crumbly Muffins into her arms and proceeded to make her way out of the office.

It was at the precise moment that she had passed the alphabetised filing cabinets, but had not yet reached the fax machine that had been jammed for three days when she heard it.

Innocent. Impulsive. Game-changing.

And there it was.

"I love you, Scully."

It was said in such an off-hand manner and with such ease that the brain of Dana Scully accepted it without protest as if it were a greeting or casual remark about the weather.

Or crop circles.

And as such, without missing a beat her brain sent a signal to mouth and she had replied,

"Love you too, Mulder."

It wasn't until half a step later that Scully realised what had just transpired. She paused in her exit with one foot frozen an inch off the floor, and as cogs clicked together she jerkily turned back around to face her partner.

"Mulder," she began, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "Did you..." The sentence trailed off into confusion and her mouth opened and closed again as she tried to work out if she had heard correctly or if her neurons were misfiring. She wasn't sure which was preferrable. "...Did you just say you loved me?"

It was then, as her partner leaned back in his chair with one hand clicking absent-mindedly on his pen, and with such a look of bemusement on his face that Scully came to the conclusion that it was entirely possible he didn't realise he had.

A second passed, and Mulder's look of slight bewilderment passed from his face and was replaced with one of casual and indifferent acceptance.

"I love baseball, I love pizza, I love you."

He shrugged, seemingly happy and satisfied with his conclusion and returned to attempting to convincingly argue the origins of a man/herbivorous creature with a large spiny tail.

Scully blinked once, twice, and gave an almost imperceptible jerk of her head which may well have passed for agreement. Her double-crossing mouth opened again; perhaps to broach the subject of her unyielding physical attraction to him, or perhaps to enquire about the Rusklov case, but reason appeared to override both desires and she firmly clamped it shut, turning on her heel and completing the remaining four steps to the door.

The second time it happened, at the end of a phone call regarding Maria Rusklov's disappearance, reappearance and consequential spine-tailed triplets, Scully allowed herself the pleasure of a small, indulgent smile before replying to him, basking in the warmth in the pit of her stomach that most women get when hearing such things.

It was familiar now.

Still innocent.

Still impulsive.

Still changing the game.

**Fin.**


End file.
